"Mighty clus, you'll find out. Howsumever, ef you tend to your business and mind what I tell you, you'll come out all right, I guess."

"My gracious! I wish we was only on our way back. I don't like Injins no way you can fix it."

"I don't neither, so let's pike ahead and hold in for a while."

The journey continued in silence. They were on the Ohio side of the river, having crossed it at the commencement of their expedition. Late in the afternoon they were obliged to swim a small stream that put in from the Ohio. This was accomplished easily, as both were excellent swimmers, Jenkins fully equal to the ranger. On the sh.o.r.e of this they halted, spent a few moments in eating a portion of the food they had brought with them. By this time darkness had settled over the forest, but the moon was quite strong, and they kept on for several hours. At the end of that time they reached a solitary block-house, standing on a clearing, where it was the intention to shortly commence a settlement.

There was a small force stationed there by the governor of the territory some months previous. The sentinel was on the look-out and detected the approach of Dingle as soon as the latter became aware of the block-house. He was instantly challenged, but a word set the matter right, and in a moment one of the force descended, unbarred the gate, and joyfully welcomed him in. Lew Whetzel, to whom we have before referred, was in the block-house, and the meeting between him and Dingle was cordial on both sides. There were eight soldiers besides, all adepts in Indian warfare. The commander produced his cups, poured out whisky, and none, save Jenkins, needed an invitation to drink. The latter was a perfect novice, and with wondering eyes followed the motions and actions of Dingle. The consequence was, before any one suspected it, he commenced nodding, and shortly dropped upon the floor. One of the men rolled him into the corner, where he slept until morning.

Dingle, Whetzel, and several others kept up the conversation all through the night. They drank enough to make each communicative, and related stories and anecdotes almost without end. Lew Whetzel gave that incident in his experience to which we have before alluded. At its conclusion, he sprang to his feet with a regular Shawnee yell.

"And here is Lew Whetzel! ready for a bear-fight, Indian hug, or a hair raise."

As he uttered these words, he gave Jenkins a kick that thoroughly awakened him.

"Gracious alive! what's the matter?" exclaimed the latter, starting to his feet.

"Day has broke, and it's time to be trampin'," said Dingle.

"Yas," added Whetzel; "and I must go up the river to see the boys."

The appearance of this Lewis Whetzel was most extraordinary. He was below the medium height, with a square ma.s.sive breast, very broad shoulders, and arms as powerful as piston-rods. His face was nearly as dark as an Indian's, and marked with the small-pox. His eyes were of the fiercest blackness imaginable, and there were few who could stand their terrible glance when angry. It is said that he never allowed his hair to be cut. At any rate, at the time mentioned, it was so long, that when allowed to flow unrestrained, it reached down below his knees.

Dingle and Jenkins pa.s.sed outside, and after a hasty good-by, plunged resolutely into the forest. The ranger led the advance, in his usual cautious manner, proceeding rapidly, and yet so stealthily that their approach could not have been heard a dozen feet distant, excepting now and then, when Jenkins caught his foot in some vine, and tumbled with a suppressed exclamation upon his hands and knees, or forgot himself so much as to undertake to commence a conversation.

The journey was continued without incident worthy of note until nightfall. Not an Indian or white man was encountered through the day.

Just at dusk, they reached a river, which, as Dingle informed Jenkins, was the Little Miami.

"My gracious! has that got to be swam, too?" asked the latter, in astonishment.

"No! we'll row over, I guess."

"Row over? how can we do that?"

"Don't ax too many questions and you'll see."

With this, Dingle proceeded some distance upstream, and then halted before a large, tangled ma.s.s of undergrowth. Here he stooped down, and pulled out a small birchen canoe, almost as light as paper. An Indian's paddle lay beside it, which he instructed Jenkins to bring forth. As he dropped the boat in the river, it danced as uneasily and buoyantly as an eggsh.e.l.l.

"Where under the sun did you get that thing?" asked Jenkins.

"That belongs to the Frontier Angel. It's the one we used to go sparking in when we was young."

"Pshaw, d.i.c.k, you're joking," replied Jenkins, incredulously.

"I should think you knowed enough of me to know that I never joke when I'm scouting it. Jest jump in while I give it a shove."

Now if any of our readers have ever seen a small Indian canoe, they will detect at once the mischievous object of Dingle in asking his companion to "jump into" this one. It is an impossibility for a person who does not understand them, to spring in without going overboard. It is precisely similar to putting on a pair of skates for the first time.

Unless you have tried it before, and know how to do it, you are sure to be deceived. But Jenkins had no suspicions, judging from the last remark of Dingle that he was perfectly serious.

So he made a spring, struck the thing near the bow, and it shot like a bolt backward into the sh.o.r.e, and he disappeared with a loud splash beneath the surface of the water.

"Blast that boat! what made it do that?" he spluttered, scrambling into sh.o.r.e again.

"You're a smart one!" remarked Dingle, without changing a muscle of his face. "I'd 'vise you to practice a little at gettin' in a boat, when you've got time. I s'pose I'll have to hold it for you, this time."

And so he did, seizing it by the stern, and holding it firmly while Jenkins carefully deposited himself in the front part. Dingle then stepped in, seated himself near the middle, and dipping his paddle in the water, shot rapidly toward the opposite bank.

It was now quite dark, and by keeping near the center of the stream, he felt secure from observation from either sh.o.r.e. An hour or two, he sped swiftly forward, encountering no suspicious object, and exchanging not a syllable with his companion. After a time, the moon arose; and, as it slowly rolled above the wilderness, it shed such a flood of light as to make it extremely dangerous to continue as heretofore. The tall forest trees towered upon both sides, throwing a wall of shadow far out into the stream. Dingle ran his canoe in under protection of these, upon the left bank, and dipped his oars more deeply and silently, commanding Jenkins not to utter a syllable.

Dingle paddled hour after hour, until toward midnight, he touched the bank, sprung out, and exchanged places with Jenkins, who took his turn at the paddle. At first he made several feints, nearly upsetting the canoe, but, in a short time, he became quite an expert, and did his duty without a murmur. Another exchange, another long pull, and the ranger ran his canoe again into sh.o.r.e, pulling it up and concealing it on the bank. Day was dawning, and they had reached that point where it was necessary to take to the forest again, and strike across toward Mad river.

In doing this, our friends were compelled to pa.s.s the Indian village mentioned as being a short distance below where Xenia now stands. This being a smaller and less important one than Piqua, Dingle concluded to visit it upon his return. The river, at the point where they disembarked, made a bend to the eastward; so that, by taking a direct northwest course toward Mad river, it was not even necessary to make a detour to avoid it.

They had now progressed so far upon their journey, that Dingle knew they could reach Piqua long before night. Accordingly, he crawled into a dense ma.s.s of undergrowth, followed by Jenkins, who carefully restored the bushes behind him to their upright position, so as to remove all signs of their trail. Here they both lay down and slept soundly.

Dingle possessed that power, which is so singular and yet so easily acquired, of waking at the precise moment he wished. About noon he opened his eyes, arose to the sitting position, gave Jenkins a kick, and ordered him to make ready to start. After a hearty meal upon the last of the venison they had brought with them, they emerged from their resting-place, and once more resumed their journey.

As they gradually approached the neighborhood of the Indian settlement, Dingle became more and more cautious in his movements, until Jenkins was in a perfect tremor of apprehension.

"Don't fall behind!" admonished the ranger, unmercifully.

"My gracious, I won't! Every time you stop, I b.u.mp against you. I've mashed my nose already."

"Never mind; we're gettin' nigher every minute."

"I know we are, and that's what troubles me so much. If we were only going the other way, I wouldn't mind it so much."

Several times they came upon Indian trails, some of which were so fresh that Dingle made several detours, painfully tedious to Jenkins, who every minute was getting into a feverish state. Before dark, they ascended a sort of ridge, which seemed the boundary of a valley on the left. Jenkins followed his guide so closely, that he hardly took his eyes off of him, much less did he know where he was going. He saw they were ascending a rising ground, and that, after about an hour's labor, he came to a halt.

"Take a look down there!" whispered Dingle, parting the bushes in front of him. Jenkins followed the direction of his finger, and saw, spread out before him, in the valley below, the entire Indian village.

"My gracious! don't that look funny!" he exclaimed.

"It don't strike me as rather funny, when you understand what they're making all that fuss for."

"Not for us, you don't mean."

"Yes, for us."

"Let's be gettin' out of here, then."

"No, I don't mean for us here, but for the settlement--the block-house."

"Oh! I thought you meant they were coming here."

It was evident to any eye, that the savages below them were making preparations for some hostile expedition. Dingle judged it was against their own village from what the Frontier Angel had said. Most of the warriors were collected upon a large open s.p.a.ce near one end of the village. Here several of their orators--_stump speakers_ is a better term--were constantly haranguing them. The excited gesticulation, the bobbing of the head, and now and then a word could be heard by our two friends in concealment. The men were arrayed in the gaudy hideousness of war-paint, and to all appearances hugely delighted with the oratory that greeted their ears. Men were continually arriving and departing, sometimes nearly a score pa.s.sing into the wood, and then reappearing in a short time again. Every second several shouts or yells pierced the air. The whole village was in commotion, and Dingle could as well have departed at once with the information that the Shawnees were again taking the war-path, and the settlement was most probably the object of their fury. But he determined to know more before he went back.

As it was getting darker, and the shrubbery and undergrowth were so dense as to afford a sure concealment in spite of the moon, which rose at a late hour, he felt no hesitation at making a much nearer approach.